


Don't Forefit Your Heart All Together

by Aikori_Ichijouji, AkisMusicBox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Clearing Jaskier's Name, Jealousy, M/M, Potions, Teen Pregnancy, Yennefer to the Rescue, grave hag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikori_Ichijouji/pseuds/Aikori_Ichijouji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: Jaskier smiled at the joke, but it didn't reach his eyes. He took a seat on the floor next to the bed, blessedly not continuing to stare at Geralt's backside as the salve absorbed. "A lordling wants to put a sword at my throat and make me marry his second daughter who he believes I got with child. I know who did it, though, and he's on the run. I need you to help me bring him to the lord."After Jaskier helps him treat a sensitive injury, Geralt has to meddle in more human affairs than he ever expected to pay him back.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 122





	Don't Forefit Your Heart All Together

It had been quite some time since Geralt had been in such a difficult position. Typically, he could figure out most things on his own — nothing a sword thrust or a well-placed boot couldn't fix. But this... This was different.

Geralt considered himself not terribly inflexible, but his body was currently aching on the inside and out. Even his eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them. He was tired and sore and he was so terribly itchy.

There was, in fact, an easy way to fix the last problem. He wasn’t on his own and hadn’t been for the past week. It was an obvious departure from his usual practice and Geralt was conflicted because it wasn’t as bothersome as it should have been. That was a bother in itself, and one he wasn’t certain he was keen on addressing. So he didn’t.

"Jaskier," Geralt muttered, face in the pillow.

"Yes?" Jaskier said, skittering over to his bedside too eagerly. "Do you need something?"

If the bard was insistent on haunting his room like a wraith, he should be put to good use, Geralt decided. Jaskier mentioned he had a request for him, but refused to go into detail so soon after Geralt's return from battling a grave hag in the nearby cemetery. So Geralt was left in limbo with throbbing muscles and an annoying itch on his hindquarters.

"The small pot of salve in my pack, bring it here," he instructed from where he'd dropped, prone on the bed.

He heard Jaskier rummaging through his things before returning to his side, a small tin with a wooden lid in his hands. Unscrewing the top, Jaskier took a curious sniff of the contents. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he coughed. He held the tin out to Geralt.

"Gods, what's in that?!" Jaskier asked, fanning at his nose with his free hand.

"Bear fat and chamomile mostly." Geralt grunted while attempting to undo his leggings. "I've an itch that needs tending to."

Jaskier, noticing what he was doing, reeled back and almost dropped the salve on the ground. "I-if you need a moment to yourself, I can come back later."

"No, you idiot," Geralt snarled, impatient. "The grave hag's lashing got me in the backside and it needs to be treated before it gets infected."

"Oh," Jaskier breathed with poorly veiled amusement. "Is this—are you asking me for help?"

"If you want to live long enough to tell me about whatever request you have," Geralt ground out through clenched teeth, "you'll do exactly that."

Jaskier nodded and, noticing Geralt struggling, helped gently shift the leggings over his backside. Once exposed, Geralt heard Jaskier inhale in a hiss. But, that was the last Geralt heard from him during treatment, only the _squish squick squelch_ of the salve. He braced himself for the cold, gloopy smear, but the cold never came. He must have warmed it in his hands, Geralt thought. And, to Jaskier's credit, his touch was soft and deft and brought relief almost instantly. Geralt had to suppress the urge to moan.

"Anywhere else?" Jaskier asked.

Geralt grunted and said, "That'll do. What's your request?"

Jaskier put the salve away and wiped his hands on a rag. "I need your help proving my innocence."

Geralt snorted. "I don't think you were born innocent, nonetheless are now."

Jaskier smiled at the joke, but it didn't reach his eyes. He took a seat on the floor next to the bed, blessedly not continuing to stare at Geralt's backside as the salve absorbed. "A lordling wants to put a sword at my throat and make me marry his second daughter who he believes I got with child. I know who did it, though, and he's on the run. I need you to help me bring him to the lord."

Geralt sighed. "Sounds like nothing but the affairs of humans to me. And again, your proof of innocence is lacking."

"I did little more than pat the girl on the shoulder when she was bereft!" Jaskier argued. "She's barely flowered. I found her crying in an abandoned tent at a fête. A fête that Valdo Marx fled the day before. But a soldier looking for the girl spotted us together and that's all it took."

"And you don't want to be saddled with Valdo Marx's bastard? Stuff your pride and find a comfortable home." Geralt was growing more annoyed by the moment.

"We would both be miserable," Jaskier said, averting her eyes. "Yes, on paper, a disgraced viscount and a second daughter of a lordling is fine. But it's not right." When Jaskier looked back to Geralt, he seemed positively depressed. "I think she was just a girl who thought if she acted out, she'd get sent to a temple. I believe her to be _a friend of Melitele_. But her plan didn't work."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that an ideal arrangement then? Both of your interests follow the same vein and neither of you have cause to rebuke the other for unfaithfulness."

"Geralt, it's the principle of the thing," Jaskier whined, pressing both hands to his eyes. "I'm not entering a loveless marriage to save someone who ran from their responsibility. Not now; not ever. You, of all people, should be well versed in what resentment and misunderstandings can breed upon death. I don't think you'd be keen on clashing with my reanimated corpse."

"It wouldn't be you anymore."

"Oh, spare me the pedantic interjection, Geralt," Jaskier huffed, letting his hands drop so the witcher could see the displeasure in his eyes. "This is important. I've helped you and now it's your turn."

Geralt sighed. "I understand your dilemma, but what's preventing this girl from simply telling her parents the truth?"

"She tried," came Jaskier's despondent reply through the curve of a frown. "They think she's protecting me."

The exasperated groan that left Geralt only half disappeared into his pillow.

"Then, I suppose we've no choice."

Geralt was able to get half a day's rest and half a dozen potions down before they set off. Originally being from the region, Valdo Marx couldn't pass through without being recognized, so at least their trek to Raggaven wouldn't be in vain. At the very least, Geralt assured himself that Jaskier wouldn't be singing songs about his ass all over the continent. This quest more than covered it.

On the ride, Jaskier explained that the girl, Violette, had a few paths in front of her. Likely, her father will judge Marx too lowborn to wed, and therefore simply extort Marx for a hefty sum towards Violette's dowry to ensure a swift marriage with someone suitable. Though, if she had no takers before her belly was visibly bigger, she could still end up in a temple after all.

"You'll recognize Marx no problem," Jaskier said as they rode into town. "If you see someone that looks like an older imitation of myself, that's your culprit. Couldn't carry a tune in an empty bucket."

"Does Marx carry your strict 'principles', then?" Geralt asked. "He ran once. He has no incentive to come peacefully."

Jaskier sighed. "True. There is no carrot, but I hoped that the threat of 'stick' or 'headsman's axe' would do the trick. If the lord can't find Violette a husband then he might at least find revenge. He seems a fickle one."

Geralt chuckled. "Quite the large 'stick' you're using for this mission."

"I need one that won't break," Jaskier said simply.

Instead of heading straight to the tavern, Geralt detoured to an herbalist on the edge of town. He was starting to ache again. Jaskier tried to protest, but Geralt said, "You want me at my best. Plus, she may know something about Marx that will be important so he doesn't run again. Keep your head calm, Jaskier. Fatherhood is not in the cards for you."

The herbalist proved to be as decent a source for town gossip as a tavern. Whether she longed for a distraction amongst the tireless requests for mundane concoctions or had little regard for the privacy of her fellow inhabitants, it wasn't clear. Geralt guessed it was probably a bit of both considering how excited she was to talk shop with him as he browsed her selection of dried flowers and herbs. Her lips were sufficiently loosened after a rather effusive rant about the countless requests to convince her to produce vials of Tawny Owl. And not for the purpose of augmenting stamina in battle.

"Oh, I've seen your Valdo Marx not long ago," she said. "Not the first in a long line of men who have the sack to ask about herbal remedies for both virility and sterility in the same breath."

"He's sterile?!" Jaskier squeaked in surprise from across the hut, where he held a jar containing a cloudy green mixture.

"I think he'd like to be," the woman chuckled. "Sowing wild oats knowing they'd never take hold when planted must be nice, eh Witcher?"

"In some instances." Geralt muttered, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Anyhow, weren't nothing I could do for him and I told him as much," she offered with a shrug. “Most I can offer are contraceptives, which’d be fine if he had the smarts to use ‘em. Otherwise, he’d need a mage, I suppose.”

"You think he left in search of one?" Jaskier put down the bottle and moved closer.

"For however long that'll take," the herbalist scoffed. “Aren’t many that wish to be found and those who are, demand substantial coin for their services.”

Geralt exchanged a long look with Jaskier. They knew one sorceress in particular who spent considerable time researching human reproduction magic. If this was who Marx chose to seek out, their search was about to become exponentially easier. Well, that’s what he hoped at least.

Two hastily combined-then-chugged potions later, they made their way to the tavern. It was a fair bet that they found both of their marks, as most of the tavern goers had abandoned the inside, gawking at the effects of the chaos inside. The voice, the swears, and insults Geralt could recognize in an instant. His medallion vibrated in warning of the magic inside.

"The witch has gone mad!" a man called after him as Geralt strode towards the door. "Stay away!"

Trotting along to keep up with Geralt, Jaskier hollered, "He's a witcher!"

"Oh. God be with ye, then!" the man said with a tinge of relief.

"Brace yourself," Geralt said to Jaskier before slamming open the door.

Wind and chairs and tankards swirled around the room. "None of my business?!" Yennefer yelled at the man in pale blue, suspended in the middle of the room by his ankle. "You have to be the stupidest bard I've ever met."

"Aw, Yen, that's so sw— Ah!" Jaskier was smacked in the face with a tankard, his nose quickly running with blood.

Yennefer looked over to him curiously. "Geralt? Jaskier? What are you doing here?"

Clutching his face and groaning, Jaskier just pointed to the object of her fury. Geralt explained, "Jaskier wants to make Marx take responsibility for his actions."

"Hm," Yennefer said, amused. With a flick of her wrist the winds ceased and everything fell to the floor, including Marx with a yelp. "Explain."

"Gof 'un preggant," Jaskier gargled.

"She asked for it!" Marx wheezed.

With the sweep of one hand, Yennefer threw Marx against the wall. With the other, she stanched Jaskier's bleeding. "From the top," she demanded impatiently. "Last chance."

"Marx has impregnated a young woman in another town," Geralt explained while pulling his wind-whipped hair out of his face. "But the blame is on Jaskier for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Typical of your lot," Yennefer huffed, pulling a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and handing it off to the bard. "Did she confide in you before or after you'd removed your leggings?"

"Did'n tuff'r," Jaskier mumbled around the fabric shoved up his nose.

Yennefer looked to Geralt for a translation. "Never slept with the girl," he answered. "He was merely found in her company when someone came looking for her."

"And your role in all this?"

Geralt shrugged. "He asked for my help."

"Of course," Yennefer sniffed. "Because you always come running when that one's in trouble."

"Yen, that's not—"

A warning glare from the sorceress cut his protest short.

"I want this man out of my sight as it is. Tell me where he needs to be. I'll pump him full of truth potion and we can toss him through a portal."

Jaskier giggled.

Geralt sighed.

Marx whimpered.

* * *

It turned out to be one of the more pleasant audiences with a lord that Geralt ever had. Marx was tripping over himself to confess his sins. Geralt stuffed Jaskier with potions and interpreted for him as the swelling in his nose reduced. All the while, a dark haired girl that would clearly be a beauty once she grew up a bit was watching silently with tears in her eyes.

Eventually, Geralt and Jaskier were dismissed. They only made it to the hallway before Jaskier said, "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard out of Marx's mouth."

Geralt chuckled. "I'm afraid we'll owe Yen for this, but she certainly streamlined the manner."

Jaskier grinned. "A new song, coming up! 'Purple eyes, white heart' perhaps?"

Geralt didn't have time to call the title lazy before he felt Violette's presence. "Jaskier," she said as she approached.

Dewy skin, round cheeks, and a bright blue dress. Yes, she would be beautiful in a few years and Jaskier wouldn't have looked terribly out of place by her side. It only hit him then how terribly lonely he would have been.

"I'm so sorry, Jaskier," she said. "I've come to realize a lot of things in a short amount of time, " her eyes flitted to Geralt, then back to Jaskier, "and I've made a great many mistakes."

Jaskier sighed. "This would have been so much simpler if you'd have run away. It seems cowardice, I know, but —"

"But it's actually a choice," she cut in. "Instead of acting out and hoping Father makes choices the way I hoped he would have."

"What will happen now?" Geralt asked.

Violette rubbed her stomach. "I choose my baby. If Father finds me a suitable husband to be a father, then I stay. If not... Valdo's contribution will buy me a swift horse."

Geralt nodded. "Tell Nenneke hello from me."

Jaskier patted Violette's arm. Quietly, earnestly, he said, "There are ways for people like us to be happy in this world. Sometimes you just have to be creative on how. Don't forfeit your heart all together. Just give it patience."

Violette blinked; a tear rolled down her cheek. "I will." And then she left.

An uneasy pit was opening in Geralt's stomach. He looked to Jaskier. Blood still smeared on his face. Nose puffy. Eyes tired and forlorn. Nothing that shouldn't be expected. But it only made the pit open further.

"What is it, Geralt?" Jaskier asked.

This many potions in, Geralt was running on artificial stamina boosters rather than his own strength. It apparently overwhelmed his common sense as well, because Geralt said something that shouldn't be said in some random lordling’s hall.

"I would've missed this."

The words were meant to be mumbled over the top of a newly filled tankard of ale, not echoing off the walls of an empty corridor. Geralt knew this, but they slipped through his lips regardless. Jaskier turned to him, eyes darting around as if he suspected the words came from someone else.

"You what?”

Geralt opened his mouth again to explain, but snapped it shut. This was not a conversation to have in someone else’s home. This was not a conversation he expected to have at all. So he stepped back and made his way towards the house’s entrance with Jaskier stumbling behind him.

It wasn’t until they were outside that he realized they were stranded. Yennefer had transported them through a portal, which meant he was without a horse. They’d have to find their way back on foot. Alone. And there’d be no intermittent whickering from Roach to fill the silence.

“Geralt you can’t just utter some cryptic words and walk off like that,” Jaskier chided him once he caught up. “Well, I guess you could, that would be quite typical for you but—“ Jaskier sighed, his shoulders slack and arms hanging at his sides. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Geralt spoke in the direction of the horizon rather than his companion. He wouldn’t be able to focus on either with all of the stimulants coursing through his system, but at least the horizon would be less judgmental.

“My work always seems exciting to the outsider, to anyone who would just as soon avoid danger than chase into the night after it.” He let his eyes flit towards Jaskier for a second, just to take in the look of wide-eyed wonder the man always seemed to have on his face whenever he spoke more than three words. “But it’s still a job, complete with the aggravations and mundanities most would find in their own professions. It’s a very isolated job, though I’ve not always noticed.” He glanced at Jaskier again. “Not until I had company.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. “Wh-what are you saying?”

Geralt was so jittery that he wanted nothing more than to shut Jaskier up in the most sure-fire way possible. A way that would cut through the need for flowery language that should be nigh impossible for witchers. But they were still in town, with prying eyes all around, and Geralt did not have the steadiness inside him to cut through the assault that would follow the tactic. Instead, Geralt grabbed Jaskier's arm and towed him along as quickly as possible.

"It means that, if this manhunt wasn't successful and you were still going to have to wed Violette, things would have gone very badly. Where my main motivation should be to ensure your free will, I doubt that would have been the case." His voice was low and pointed at Jaskier as if he was scolding him. Any passerby would have thought so.

"Instead?" Jaskier asked and the world would have assumed him to be scared to death.

"Instead, the prospect of returning to that isolation would have driven me to madness. One worthy of quite the ballad that you would never be able to write because you were the object of it." They were passing by the herbalist by that point and Geralt wished he had more skillful ways to dance around his point, just for a little longer.

"You wouldn't have been alone," Jaskier said. "You've got Yen, and Triss, and —"

"You can still be alone while with someone," Geralt growled. "When what you should be and what you are do not match, that is painful. But when what you should be is what is expected of you, it's worse. It's assurance of failure and abandonment."

Past the signpost, Geralt could sense rabbits and deer in the distance. Geralt gave Jaskier one last yank and picked up speed. But when they had made it to a clump of trees and Geralt released Jaskier's arm, it was Jaskier who put a hand on Geralt's chest and pushed him against the tree. And Geralt let him.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me this after you wanted to convince me that I should go along with it, Geralt.” Jaskier pulled his hand away long enough to extend a single finger and drive it hard into Geralt’s chest. “Don’t you dare.”

“Jaskier—“

“No, you don’t get to do this to yourself.” Jaskier panted as if he’d just run from a beast and all Geralt can hear is the pounding of the bard’s pulse. “You do not get to wallow in the misery of your own self-fulfilling prophecy. Not when I’m right here and I—“

His breaths came in rasps and tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. Geralt wanted to claim pride at having rendered the man speechless for once in his life. Instead, it only caused a dreadful ache that devoured him from top to toe. He’d caused this with his careless words and he was long past the point of taking them back.

“Not when I—“ Jaskier tried and failed again. He pulled back the hand on Geralt’s chest to form a fist that hovered uncertainly in the air.

“Damn it,” he croaked between shaky breaths. "If I didn’t already know that punching you would shatter my hand, I’d have tried it.”

“I could remove my armor,” Geralt suggested, bewildered. “Make it more of a fair fight.”

Jaskier laughed, loud and incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Geralt had the gall to even suggest it. It was warranted, Geralt thought. The very idea of it was ridiculous.

“No, I can’t fight against you when I’m also fighting for you.” Jaskier loosened his fist and dropped it to rest on Geralt’s shoulder. “I’ve been doing that long enough to know there’s nothing fair about that fight.”

Geralt leaned back hard against the tree, hearing the bark crunch against the swords on his back. Jaskier was too close. Too upset. Too impassioned. Even if this were actually a fight, he was already cornered. Jaskier didn’t need to physically restrain him for that. The look in his eyes was doing a fine job on its own.

“Why bother fighting then?” he asked even though he knew, with those words, he’d opened a door that would never close again.

“Because you’ve always been worth it for me to try.”

The hand on his shoulder moved swiftly to clutch at his collar and yank him forward. And all thoughts of loneliness and potions and marriages to beautiful young maidens were summarily evicted from his mind at the feel of Jaskier’s lips on his. There, in that tiny copse of trees with only the deer and rabbits as their witness, the door he opened flew off its hinges and vanished into oblivion. He’d be an idiot to mourn its loss.

Jaskier ran out of breath before he did. He pulled away, ever so slightly, still holding on to Geralt's collar. "Not fair," he gasped.

Geralt chuckled. "At least now I have a foolproof method to get you to be quiet."

"That might cause me to never stop," Jaskier replied. He locked eyes with Geralt. "I swear to you, whatever it takes, I want to be with you. No matter what that means or what —"

Geralt silenced him with another kiss. "Whatever it takes," Geralt rumbled back. He didn't want to leave that spot, but the light that shined on Jaskier's hair was tinged with orange. Geralt exhaled. "Right now, we need to retrieve Roach, and that's going to require some walking."

Jaskier finally released Geralt. "Right. Walking. I think I remember how to do that." He cleared his throat.

Emerging from the trees made Geralt feel well and truly naked. There was no preparing for this, no alchemical formula or bestiary entry to explain how to handle what happens next.

But Jaskier clearly had his own ideas. "Did a grave hag really get you or were you just looking for someone to touch your ass?"

Geralt tried to scowl over a rising laugh. "'Purple eyes, white heart' is one of the laziest titles I've heard you utter.'"

Jaskier gasped. "It's rife with symbolic potential! Admit it, I've got talented fingers not calloused by the ravages of combat, it's natural to be curious."

"I'll be curious to see how Yen curses you when that song is played," Geralt replied.

"From Aretuza born  
A young lady, already scorned,  
A life of servitude fled..."

Geralt sighed. "Born in Aedirn."

"Details come in editing, Geralt." Jaskier sighed. "You've so much to learn."

Geralt chuckled. "Clearly."

**Author's Note:**

> AKA: When Talented Fingers Manipulate a Large Stick


End file.
